


get in trouble

by lolainslackss



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss/pseuds/lolainslackss
Summary: A brief history of Neil Josten standing up for himself.





	get in trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AFTG exchange Valentine's gift for [taynicke](http://taynicke.tumblr.com), who requested 'neil taking care of himself— too many fics include andrew punching people for him. i want that boy to fight his own physical battles sometimes.' 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> cw: canon-typical violence, unwanted flirting/touching in a club

**one.**

 

It would have been naïve of Neil to think he'd stop getting into trouble just because his father and Riko were dead.

Trouble always found him, one way or another.

Wymack could lecture him all he wanted about his loud mouth and short temper, but Neil couldn't just shut up every time some jackass decided they wanted a turn pissing him off. So, yeah, his _biggest_ problems were taken care of, but there were still angry Ravens fans, petty opponents, invasive tabloid journalists, and, weirdly, new teammates around to pick fights with him. Sometimes he kept his calm, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes a harsh word could make them back down. Other times things fell apart, descended into chaos.

Like this time.

He sat in front of a standing Andrew, who was cleaning the shallow wound that stretched across Neil's cheekbone with a cloth reeking of anti-septic cream.

Here's how it happened: they kept beating the Ravens. It wasn't hard. The Ravens were a team unravelled; they were thread spilling messily from a spool, spilled coffee, shattered glass. The Foxes weren't great either. Having antagonistic newbies on the team didn't grant them any semblance of harmony, no matter how many strategy meetings Dan and Neil had. It would just take time, like resetting a broken bone.

Still, they kept beating the Ravens, and the fans were getting increasingly frustrated. According to Nicky, Neil was already the target of a lot of vitriol online. The Ravens fans wouldn't let Riko's last game fade into the past; they kept dragging it up, questioning Neil's role in Riko's suicide, the validity of his status as a vice-captain. Neil ignored the internet (Once he'd had to ask Kevin what a meme was, and why the two of them were often the subject of them). At games, however, he couldn't really escape.

The players were one thing. They hissed cruel insults in his ear the whole game, but he just laughed in their faces and scored goals. Afterwards, though, the fans would gather in dark clusters at the outskirts of the stadium, wait for the Foxes to leave.

On this particular evening, there was a particularly loud fan who had broken away from his group and was now intent on getting in Neil's face.

"Josten," He said. "You really think you're good enough to captain this team? Captain _Kevin Day_?"

"I don't see Kevin complaining," Neil countered, trying to push past the fan, who had black and scarlet paint streaked across his cheeks and knuckles. The guy pushed back. The rest of the Foxes watched this, unimpressed.

"You're worthless," The Ravens fan bit out, spitting on the ground near Neil's sneakers. "It should have been you with a bullet in your head."

"But it wasn't, was it?" Neil said darkly. "That was the worthless ex-captain of your worthless team. What was his name again?"

"You little shit," The fan snarled through gritted teeth. "You're just begging for a beating, Josten."

"Great," Neil replied drily. "Can you get out of my way? Unlike you, I have a win to celebrate."

As he went to move past the Ravens fan he noticed the man move to punch him. Neil ducked, dodging it easily. He noticed a couple of the Foxes step forward, alert, then heard Aaron mutter 'why does this always happen?' under his breath.

Neil flashed his waiting teammates an unworried grin.

"I'm not going to fight you," He told the guy blocking his path, "so don't even-"

A fist brutally collided with his left cheek, but that wasn't all. Shocking, electric pain shot through his every nerve as he realised there was something sharp and hard being dragged through the skin there. _A key_ , he thought bitterly, as he instinctively shoved the guy away, and saw the glimmer of bronze caught between his knuckles. It shined like a wedding band, like a trophy. Neil raised a hand to the wound and winced when his fingers came away bloody.

Before any of the Foxes could descend upon his attacker, he kicked the guy in the groin, suddenly wishing that he'd worn heavier boots. He heard Allison cackle as the Ravens fan crumpled to the floor.

Neil stormed past him and rejoined his teammates. Matt inspected the cut.

"That fucker made Neil bleed," Matt bit out, glaring.

Nobody moved.

"Not tonight," Neil muttered as the Ravens fans starting hurling more insults their way.

"Neil-" Nicky said, reaching out as if to touch the cut. "That looks sore-"

"It doesn't hurt," Neil told him, scowling. "Let's just get to the party."

"We'll meet you there," Andrew said, and his voice was like ice, as he laced his fingers into the fabric of Neil's sleeve and pulled him to a stop.

" _No_ , we won't," Neil protested. "It'll heal."

"Of course it will heal," Andrew said, rolling his eyes as if Neil were being stupid, "if it's cleaned properly."

"It's just a shallow cut," Neil countered. "I've had worse."

"Does it look like I care?" Andrew asked. "Keys are dirty. It could get infected."

" _Fine_ ," Neil said. "We'll meet you guys at Katelyn's building in five minutes."

And that's how they ended up in a darkened dorm room instead of celebrating their win. Neil sighed, and Andrew pressed the cloth to his face again, his stare never really meeting Neil's own, but instead lingering on that jagged red line.

"Are you ever going to leave a confrontation unscathed?" Andrew said eventually.

"He was an asshole," Neil replied, still angry.

"They're all assholes," Andrew said. "You need to learn how to duck."

"I did duck," Neil muttered. "The first time."

Andrew responded by pressing the cloth down hard. Neil winced at the sting of it.

Neil brooded in silence as Andrew slipped a clean Band-Aid from the nearly-empty carton. He watched as Andrew's fingers deftly slid it out of the wrapper, raised it to rest at his cheekbone, gently stuck it down. Andrew's fingers grazed his jaw as he pulled his hand away and Neil shivered at the touch. Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"You're cold," Neil told him.

"And you're annoying," Andrew said, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go."

They made their way over to Katelyn's building in silence, Andrew walking slightly ahead of Neil.

"I didn't see it," Andrew said eventually, not looking back. "The key."

"You can't see everything," Neil replied, jogging a couple of paces to catch up.

Andrew shrugged as if he didn't agree.

"Hey," Neil went on. "I handled it."

"Next time his head is rolling," Andrew said, pushing the door open.

Neil laughed, and followed his boyfriend down the hall.

That night, when he grinned at his teammates, his cheekbone throbbed, and he didn't care.

 

**two.**

 

Neil never really enjoyed the excursions to Eden's Twilight. He just got _used_ to them, and the closer it got to Andrew's graduation, the more Neil began to cling onto their group traditions.

So here he was. It was one in the morning, and Neil was getting more exhausted by the second. He and Kevin had practised in the morning and afternoon and his legs were sore. Everyone else seemed to be full of energy. Nicky, Aaron and Kevin had been dancing on and off for hours, and they were all appropriately tipsy and sweaty. Andrew and Neil had sat in comfortable silence for the majority of the evening, the bass bouncing against the club walls. Now Neil was on a tequila run.

He watched as Roland poured the amber liquid into tiny glasses, and began to arrange them on a tray alongside thick wedges of green lime.

"Don't forget salt," A low voice from Neil's left called out.

Neil turned to the drunk guy, who was now invading his space, and raised an eyebrow.

"I think he knows how to serve tequila," Neil said coolly.

"I'm Frank," The guy continued, sidling closer and offering Neil his hand.

"I need to get this back to my group," Neil replied, looking pointedly at the tray.

"What's the hurry?" Frank asked, leaning in to speak directly into Neil's ear as if he were ordering food from the drive-through.

Roland shot Neil a questioning look as he slid the tray across the bar towards him. Neil rolled his eyes and looked towards Frank in response.

"Don't get in any trouble," Roland told him as Neil picked up the tray and held it above his head, fingers splayed across the bottom of it.

As he made his way back across the crowded dancefloor, he became aware that Frank was following him. Neil pursed his lips, annoyed.

"So are you like, gay?" Frank asked, bellowing in Neil's ear again.

"No," Neil answered shortly, waiting for a group of dancers to move so he could pass. As he stopped, Frank took the opportunity to press himself against Neil's back.

Neil straightened his spine and leant away from Frank, uncomfortable and irritated.

"Look-" He snapped, as he was jostled by the crowd. Splashes of tequila hit his shoulders.

"Are you single then?" Frank interrupted. His breath was warm and unpleasant against Neil's neck.

"No," Neil said through gritted teeth. "I have a boyfriend."

Finally, the dancers moved out of his way and he pushed through the gap. Unfortunately, Frank was still following him. He sighed. He and Nicky had been through this a couple of times now. He was supposed to view these types of interactions as a _compliment_ , apparently. It wasn't _the world's_ fault that Neil was so good-looking, Nicky had said, and he had to let people down gently. This was annoying, though, when people were so unpleasant and persistent. Neil slammed the tray down on the table and turned round to glare at Frank, who had now pushed his way into their area. Fuck what Nicky said about being nice. He didn't owe this guy _shit_.

"You're not gay, but you have a _boyfriend_?" Frank repeated heatedly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Aaron, Nicky, Andrew and Kevin turned to look at them.

"Is this seriously happening _again_?" Aaron said incredulously.

"Listen, _Frank_ ," Neil said, folding his arms. "I only have a limited amount of energy left for tonight and I'd rather not waste explaining myself to you, so if you don't mind, could you fuck off and mind your own business?"

Frank's eyebrows narrowed.

"What's your problem?" He snapped. "I'm just trying to be nice to you."

"Oh my god," Nicky said from somewhere to his left. " _Andrew_."

Neil stole a glance at Andrew, who had apparently already took a shot of tequila, because he was looking over at Neil and Frank with a wedge of lime in his mouth. He was observing the situation with a bored expression. When their eyes met, Neil could see the question in there, and he shook his head in response.

"Go _try to be nice_ somewhere else," Neil told Frank, who was still staring him down. "I'm not interested."

"You know," Frank said. "I'd normally overlook a messed-up face like yours for a great personality, but I can see you don't have that either, you asshole."

" _I'm_ the asshole?" Neil countered, feeling his temper pull taut. "You're the one bothering me."

"I could have just taken what I wanted, you know?" Frank continued. "When you were in the crowd just then? With your ass pushed up against me? But I tried to be _nice_. And this is how you act?"

" _You_ were the one pushing up against me," Neil retorted. "I thought I told you I didn't have time for this."

"Yet you keep talking to me," Frank replied, grinning lazily. "Guess you like playing hard to get, huh?"

" _Andrew_ ," Neil heard Nicky whine. "You have to defend Neil's _honour._ "

"He's defending it himself just fine," Andrew told his cousin, knocking back a second shot of tequila.

Neil looked to Kevin and Aaron, who were sitting side-by-side, staring darkly at the intruder.

"Just get rid of him already," Aaron snapped, looking more bored and annoyed by the minute.

"That's what I'm _trying_ to do!" Neil fired back.

"I'm waiting for you to come with me," Frank said sleazily, moving in so close that Neil could smell his bad breath. "There's a back room with our name on it if you wanna keep teasing me."

"I said _no thanks_ ," Neil bit out slowly. "Are you deaf or stupid?"

Instead of replying, Frank started to reach around Neil, his hands moving towards Neil's hips. Neil sucked in a breath, annoyed. He noticed Andrew and Kevin both stand up. As Frank's fingers grazed the small of his back, tucked themselves into the back of his jeans, Neil smiled.

"You really shouldn't have done that, _Frank,_ " Neil said, "because that means I have to do this,"

Neil smashed his fist into Frank's face and watched his eyes widen as he stumbled backwards, slipping on some spilled tequila and falling to the floor, unconscious. Neil flexed his fingers as Roland came over to see what all the fuss was about. He looked from Neil to Frank and shook his head.

"Neil-" He started, his tone warning.

"He tripped," Neil and Andrew said at the exact same time.

"And he's a pervert," Aaron added, reaching for another shot.

A couple of hours later, they were back at the house in Columbia and he and Andrew were in bed, kissing heatedly. Andrew's hands were hard, finding Neil's body in the tangle of the bedsheets the way lightning carves its way through the clouds during a storm. Andrew's eyes were alight, the only golden thing in a room full of dark and blue, and Neil was surprised by what he found there.

It was something fierce. It was something like pride.

They kissed until Neil's lips quivered, until he couldn't kiss anymore (because he _was_ exhausted, he was).

 

**three.**

 

After Palmetto, things intensified.

Neil was completely thrown into the public eye. The questions began to multiply. They were tinted bloody, tainted by the shadows of Riko, and his father, and they sometimes made Neil's world tilt on its axis. He always managed to answer carefully, not cause too much of a scandal. Wymack would have been proud.

He and Andrew were playing for different teams and they both hated it. They had both thought, somewhere in the back of their minds, that Neil graduating meant putting an end to the _distance_. But it didn't. They were still states apart, (sometimes falling apart). Distance had been cruel enough in fifth year, when Neil had still had Robin. Now he had no-one. His new team was kind of full of assholes and he could feel it brewing sourly. The _trouble_.

He flew to see Andrew whenever he could. Weekends, holidays. He'd curl up on the couch with his head in Andrew's lap, wish for time to stand still. Leaving tore him in two. He could tell Andrew felt the same way. It wasn't enough; it was paradise followed by purgatory, over and over.

Friday night. Neil's flight had landed and Andrew was waiting for him, even though Neil knew exactly how to get to his apartment by this point.

Andrew's apartment felt like home. Neil tossed his bag into the bedroom and joined his boyfriend on the couch.

"Stop grinning like a maniac," Andrew told him, driving the point home by jabbing Neil in the cheek with his finger.

"Do you want to go get ice cream?" Neil asked, beaming. He'd noticed the empty fridge-freezer. Andrew had just had a busy week; his team had a really important game coming up. This meant Andrew was probably surviving on a diet of take-out and microwave meals. This meant Andrew probably hadn't had time to go to the store, stock up on essentials. Like ice cream.

"Do _you_ want to go get ice cream?" Andrew asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Neil replied happily.

Andrew hummed, as if he were considering something important.

"Let's go," He decided finally, throwing Neil a hoodie.

Andrew drove fast. It was raining, and chilly, so Andrew turned the heat up to maximum. City lights blurred in the raindrops caught on the windshield. As the car grew warm, Neil traced his name into the fogged-up glass and Andrew fiddled with the radio.

The store was crowded and loud, full of groups of friends who were buying their Friday-night alcohol and snacks. Neil watched as Andrew inspected the whisky selection, chose a bottle. They wandered over to the frozen aisle, Andrew picking up essentials on the way.

That was when Neil noticed it: a Capercaillies shirt, black and electric blue, _Brooks, 23_ , in bold lettering on the back. Neil stilled, felt the annoyance start creeping in at the edges.

"What flavour do you want?" Andrew asked, nudging him.

"No flavour," Neil replied blankly.

"You were the one who wanted to come get ice cream," Andrew said, opening the freezer and pulling out a single pint of chocolate fudge brownie.

"Yeah," Neil agreed, still staring at that _fucking_ shirt. "Can we go?"

Andrew closed the freezer and let the ice cream fall into the basket.

"That kid bothering you?" Andrew asked eventually, after following Neil's gaze to the boy wearing the Capercaillies shirt. The boy threw his head back, laughing loudly. Neil frowned.

"He's wearing a- a _Brooks_ shirt," Neil told Andrew.

"And?" Andrew asked, as Neil began to storm along the aisle.

"And Brooks is an _asshole_ ," Neil snapped loudly. A few people turned to look.

Andrew looked from the shirt to Neil's glare calmly.

"He plays dirty," Neil continued. "He doesn't care who he hurts."

The boy in the Exy shirt finally noticed Neil. His eyes widened for a second before he saw Neil's angry expression.

"That fucker doesn't belong on a shirt," Neil said, still locking eyes with the Capercaillies fan.

"You got a problem, Josten?" The Capercaillies fan said, his voice trembling slightly.

"I got a problem with your shirt, yeah," Neil snapped, "but if you want to idolise a jerk, go ahead."

"No wonder the Capercaillies' points have gone down since you joined," The Capercaillies fan argued, shaking his head. "You have such a bad attitude."

"I think the guy doing illegal moves when the referees aren't looking has a bad attitude actually," Neil told him, "but thanks for your opinion."

The fan glared at him. Neil felt the rage gather into a coil in his chest, but he wasn't angry at this fan, not really. He was angry that he was playing with the Capercaillies, a team he had no rapport with, in a city so far away from his family, from Andrew. He was angry that even when he was trying to escape from them, he couldn't. He was angry because Exy wasn't supposed to be _this_ , not for him. He clenched his fists.

"Neil," Andrew said, drawing him out of his thoughts. Neil turned to him.

"The ice cream will melt," Andrew warned him.

Neil nodded once and walked over to the cash register, stared at the wall as Andrew paid for his groceries. They walked back to the car in silence.

"You want to explain that?" Andrew asked him, sliding a cigarette out of the new packet he'd just bought.

"He started it," Neil muttered darkly.

"No," Andrew disagreed, blowing smoke out from between his teeth. "He didn't."

"I just hate Brooks," Neil said, leaning against the Maserati. "I hate playing with Brooks."

"So?" Andrew said, passing the cigarette to Neil. "You want to end up in a viral video?"

" _No_ ," Neil replied. "Not again."

"Then don't go off at random fans," Andrew told him.

"That's a bit hypocritical coming from you, don't you think?" Neil retorted jokingly.

"You're not me," Andrew replied with a shrug. "And that's not what that was about, was it?"

"No," Neil agreed, handing the cigarette back. "I'm miserable with the Capercaillies."

"Join the Stags," Andrew told him, dropping the lit cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath his heel.

Neil snorted.

"What?" Andrew said, his gaze intense. "Talk to Mateo tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah, right," Neil said bitterly. "Like it's that simple."

"It could be," Andrew said, opening the door with a shrug. "You getting in?"

"I'll be a minute," Neil said after a minute of consideration. "I'm going to go apologise."

"If my ice cream melts you won't be playing for any team," Andrew muttered, lighting another cigarette.

Neil grinned apologetically and jogged towards the store.

 _The Stags_ , he thought, as he opened the door.

It would be Andrew. It would be home.

He decided he liked the sound of it.

 

**four.**

 

Ichirou's car smelled like cologne and gunfire. Neil was used to it by now. Every time he saw it, sleek and black and lingering at the roadside, his heart skipped a beat. It made him dizzy, made his runaway instincts kick in.

It was an omen, that car, a promise of death. Every time he saw it he'd think about how the last time he'd kissed Andrew had been _the_ last and he hadn't even known it-

And then, somehow, it was never as bad as he anticipated.

"You are turning down endorsement deals," Ichirou stated, flicking grey ash from his cigarette. "Why?"

"I-" Neil began.

"You think you are a bad investment?" Ichirou interrupted, his eyes fixed on the tinted black of the windows. "Is that it?"

"I don't want to be a sell out," Neil answered carefully. "It wouldn't be good for my reputation."

"But it would make you a lot of money," Ichirou replied easily, "and that, in turn, would make me a lot of money."

Most people have a little voice inside their head, that offers guidance, warnings. For Neil, in this moment, the little voice happened to be Kevin. _Take the endorsements,_ it said. _Take the money. Do whatever it takes to please them. Don't fuck it up. It's for the game._ Neil breathed in the stuffy air of the car. Classical music was playing quietly on the radio. The sound of the violin rose and fell; a wave.

"I'll take the endorsements," Neil said eventually.

Ichirou stubbed out his cigarette.

"Except the health food chain one," Neil finished.

"Why is that?" Ichirou said calmly, lighting another cigarette and taking a long drag.

"They were involved in a scandal earlier in the year," Neil explained. "The company is homophobic. They were firing gay and lesbian employees. On purpose. I can't partner with them."

"So principled, Nathaniel," Ichirou said as he turned to face Neil.

Neil held his gaze.

"You aren't gay," Ichirou said eventually.

"No," Neil agreed, "but my boyfriend is."

One of Ichirou's men snorted from the backseat at that comment. Ichirou cast a cool glare over his shoulder.

"And that's not the point," Neil clarified.

"It's a lot of money to lose out on," Ichirou told Neil, his tone unreadable.

Neil waited.

"But it isn't prudent to involve oneself with scandal," Ichirou decided eventually. "Leave it as you wish. Take the others. The usual eighty per cent will be fine."

Neil exhaled, relieved, and heard the _popclick_ of the car door locks being released. Dismissed, he let himself out.

"And Nathaniel," Ichirou called after him. Neil leant down and looked at Ichirou through the open window.

"Stay of of trouble," Ichirou ordered, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

Neil felt his lips quirking into a smile.

"I always do," Neil told him, suppressing the urge to shoot him a two-fingered salute, "my Lord."

Ichirou nodded and the black of the window shot back up. The car silently sped down the street and then disappeared, as if it were never there at all.

Neil zipped up his hoodie and ran across the road to his building. When he opened the door to his apartment, he saw Andrew stirring a pot of pasta sauce at the stove.

"You're late," Andrew stated.

Neil ran over to him, murmuring a 'yes or no?' as he gestured to his hands. Andrew immediately gave him a 'yes', and Neil clumsily slid his hands around his waist. Andrew's arm jerked and pasta sauce splattered across the counter-top. Neil buried his head into Andrew's neck and breathed deep. Andrew relaxed against him and sighed.

He sounded _relieved_ , Neil noticed.

"Very affectionate," Andrew remarked drily, "but you've made a mess."

"I'll clean it up," Neil muttered, planting a kiss on top of Andrew's head.

As Neil mopped up the tomato sauce with an old cloth, Andrew turned and inspected him. Neil met his watchful gaze, and his heart felt swollen. Andrew was beautiful, in the dim yellow light of their kitchen. He was barefoot, wearing all black, and his long sleeves were rolled up, revealing his muscular arms. His blond hair was all aglow; it was a candle flame, a cornfield. It was too long, sticking up at the spot Neil had just kissed.

Andrew was a promise, trapped forever in amber. Neil could hardly stand to look at him, wanted to look at him forever.

"I saw the car," Andrew admitted. "After I started dinner, I smoked by the window."

"It was nothing," Neil explained. "They wanted to talk endorsement deals, that's all."

"Good," Andrew said. "I was about to wash the tomato pulp from the knives, give them a show."

"You're perfect," Neil said, and he captured Andrew's face between his hands.

"You're troublesome," Andrew replied, moving away. "Boil some water."

Neil ran the faucet, couldn't stop smiling.

Life was a fistfight, a ball game, a deal with the devil, and they were _winning_.

 

**((five.))**

 

This is what Andrew understood: it was important for Neil Josten to fight for Neil Josten.

It was a way of being real.

Watching Neil stand up for himself against those who tried to tear him down, punish those who didn't respect his boundaries, and fight for what was right, was a strange thing, because it was so, so _alive_. It almost winded Andrew, because it reminded him that Neil almost never was, that Neil was almost extinguished, put out.

But Neil was here, and Neil was fighting every day. He was a cat with nine lives; he was fireproof. And afterwards Andrew could press ointment into his wounds, show him how annoyed Neil could make him, scold him when he was at fault, feel _proud_.

And that, for Andrew, was also a way of being real.

They were here, now, unbeatable.

He would always let Neil Josten fight for Neil Josten. Because protecting themselves was, _really_ , a way of protecting each other. And if that was too difficult, or uncomfortable, then _he_ would fight for Neil Josten. Heads would roll.


End file.
